


If I Don't Have You, I Will Starve

by CaptainStormChaser



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood, Dubious Consent, FBI Agent Sam Winchester, M/M, Murder, Rape/Non-con Elements, Serial Killer Lucifer, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4423790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainStormChaser/pseuds/CaptainStormChaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wasn't working the case. He wasn't working any case. He was just some rookie fresh out of the academy. They put him on desk duty, mostly to keep him out of the way</p><p>FBI agent Sam Winchester finds himself the target of the most wanted serial killer in the country, known only as Lucifer and determined to convince Sam that he's special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Don't Have You, I Will Starve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samtheboyking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samtheboyking/gifts).



> Based on this post: samtheboyking.tumblr.com/post/118120886366/samifer-serial-killer-au-special-agent  
> Follow this blog to unlock special features, like having their posts show up on your dash.

Sam wasn't working the case. He wasn't working any case. He was just some rookie fresh out of the academy. They put him on desk duty, mostly to keep him out of the way while they focused the bulk of their force on the case.

It was maddening just to watch them try to go at it. Lucifer left no evidence, made no mistake, even picked victims with no connection. That's what they had taken to calling him. The man just might well be the devil himself.

The end of the day came all too slowly, Sam packing up his things and driving to his apartment.

He shut the front door behind him, putting both his briefcase and gun holster on the snack bar as he passed.

As soon as he stepped away from them, there were strong hands holding him in place. A scrap of cloth was shoved over his mouth and nose, the sickly sweet scent both soothing him and triggering panic.

He remembered his training, trying to sink down onto his knees to remove the assailant from his back. They anticipated this, kicking him on the back of the knee hard enough to force him to roll to his side. Sam felt his mind going hazy, the sweet smell of the cloth he was forced to inhale as his body protested against him holding his breath now bitter and acidic.

His blows aimed at his attacker lost their strength, their motivation.

Sam felt tired, the chemical on the rag slipping his consciousness away from him.

He wasn't sure how much time passed, but he was aware enough to try to keep his breathing steady. There was something in his mouth, gagging him. He tried to move his hands and feet, finding them both bound to whatever he was sitting in.

With some difficulty, he opened his eyes and looked at his surroundings. He was in a room entirely made of cement, a group of light bulbs set into the ceiling.

He heard a sound, turning his head quickly toward it. A man stood over a metal table, his back to Sam and his hands busied with something.

"Good morning, Special Agent Winchester." He greeted, not turning around. "I thought you'd be a little longer, but you're a fighter, aren't you?"

Sam looked down at himself. He was tied to a chair, strapped in with thick leather belts.

"You know who I am, don't you?" The man continued. He turned around, stopping directly in front of Sam and stooping to meet his eyes. He was blond, blue eyes intense and as pale as ice. "Or at least, you know my stage name." He tugged the gag from Sam's mouth, letting the agent speak.

"Lucifer." Sam whispered.

The killer seemed satisfied with that, stepping back and returning to his table.

"What are you going to do to me?" Sam asked.

"Nothing." Lucifer replied. "At least, not yet. I like you, Sam. I've been watching you for a while now."

"Why?" Sam demanded, pulling at his restraints. "You have to know that the FBI will find you, especially after you took one of their agents."

Lucifer ignored the question, instead pulling the chair from the table in front of Sam, straddling it backwards. "Did you like my last gift? You knew her."

Sam gritted his teeth. "Ruby."

Lucifer nodded. "The two of you dated in high school. Four months. Now, remind me why it was the two of you broke up?"

Sam was determined not to flinch, to not give in to this psychopath's game. "We just drifted apart."

Lucifer smirked. Sam couldn't help but think his voice was far too calm, far too rational, for someone this unhinged. "Try again. This time, the truth. It was because of the drugs, wasn't it? She started with pot, just experimenting. You of course abstained because you needed that shiny clean record to get into the FBI academy. But that wasn't the end of it. She switched to harder stuff, taking money from you and blowing dealers to get her next hit. You were angry, weren't you?"

Sam still said nothing, but Lucifer's eyes darted to the agent's hands, knuckles white with the force at which they were tightened.

Lucifer licked his lips. "Oh yeah, you were angry." His words came out low, almost husky.

Then Lucifer left, hitting the lights when he did. Sam yelled and struggled in an effort to move the chair to the table, which he could now see hosted an array of knives, chains, and syringes, but he only wore himself out. It was hours before his throat closed with its own hoarseness. He rested his head on his arm, and at last saw his current problem: the chair was bolted into the floor.

* * *

Lucifer wouldn't allow Sam to eat on his own. Instead he would feed the agent. Sam resisted, his leg nearly vibrating with the need to relieve himself.

"Nothing you do at gunpoint can be held against you." Lucifer reminded him when he wouldn't eat.

"I don't see a gun." Sam replied.

"Do you need one?"

Sam ate, trying not to let out any noise. He hadn't eaten in what he thought might be a day, and the food was orgasmic.

"I went to culinary school." Lucifer said in response to Sam's unvoiced comment.

When all the food was gone, Sam was freed from the chair but his hands and feet were handcuffed together. Lucifer took him into an adjoining bathroom, the door heavy and steel.

When they were in, Lucifer did up the four industrial grade locks on the door and stored the keys in his pocket. He freed one of Sam's hands from the handcuffs, linking the other to a pipe on the wall.

Sam fumbled for his fly, certain that his willpower would fail him in the next two seconds. He let out a groan of relief when his bladder began to empty, and he looked around the bathroom.

Lucifer was slouching with his arms crossed in the far corner, watching him. Sam felt exposed under his gaze, clear blue eyes set intently on his. Not even trying to hide his intention, the killer glanced below Sam's waist, then back to his face.

"Nice."

Sam felt his face flush, turning back to his business.

* * *

It became a routine. Lucifer would feed him three meals a day, taking him to the restroom afterwards. Sam would down an entire water bottle of water, and then they talked.

Talking was mainly done on the part of Lucifer. He would talk about pieces of Sam's life prior to this, seeing how strong a response he could draw from the agent.

"Why me?" Sam asked one day. He thought it might be the fifth. "Why not just kill me, for that matter?"

Lucifer grinned. "You're not like the other agents, Sam. You're special. You want so badly to do good."

* * *

The first time Lucifer brought someone else into the room, Sam was upset. He didn't recognize the woman, just watched anxiously as Lucifer bound her much the same way he had Sam.

She woke a few hours later, Lucifer having been silent at his table for the entirety of that time.

She looked around the room frantically, tears pouring desperately from her face and screams getting stuck behind the gag.

"Hey! Hey, look at me, it's alright." Sam tried to get her attention. "Just calm down, try and breathe, okay? My name is Sam, I'm with the FBI, and I'm going to get you out of this. Alright?"

She nodded jerkily, sniffling but otherwise stopping her cries. She was in what looked like a waitress's uniform, a name tag pinned to her chest.

"Eve? Is that your name?"

She nodded.

Lucifer turned around at last, a Bowie knife in his hand. "Oh, Sam, no." He chided, as though he were child that had been caught making a mess. "Don't tell them it's alright, it ruins the fun. We want our dear friend Eve here to know that she is going to die, and the next few days are going to be the absolute worst of her life."

Eve screamed again, sobbing and begging.

"Watch me, Sam." Lucifer ordered, running the blade gently up her rib cage, only cutting at her clothes enough for him to rip them away and reveal a large portion of her torso. The knife tip drew delicate lines across her collarbone, tracing it while the girl let out horrific screams of agony, muffling the words.

Sam turned his head away, and he felt a strong hand grip his jaw and pull it forward.

"I can draw this out for weeks, Sam. But if you watch, she can die nice and fast. Won't you give her that mercy?"

Reluctantly, Sam faced Eve again. Her eyes pleaded, closing in pain as Lucifer worked on her. She at last passed out, and Lucifer returned his attention to Sam.

"She's lovely, isn't she? I picked her out because I knew you'd like her." He whispered into Sam's ear. "Petite brunette. Twenty-three. A virgin. She'd be nice and tight for you. Of course, her first time should be gentle. But you don't want to make love, you want to fuck her, don't you Sam? Make her scream underneath you, calling your name while you drive your cock into her."

"You're a monster." Sam growled out.

Lucifer's hand, still sticky with blood, reached down to palm at Sam's groin, finding him half-hard.

"Am I really the monster here? I want you to think about that."

Sam threw up after he left.

* * *

Eve lasted for three days after that, when Lucifer finally got bored. He injected something into her neck that made her vomit, asphyxiating on it while blood began to leak from behind the gag.

"Look at her." Lucifer commanded, holding Sam's head forward from behind. "She's beautiful, isn't she? All worn out, pure. That's how they're going to find her, every mark I put on her a testament to what you watched me do." His hands rested on Sam's shoulders. "I did it for you, Sam. She's a gift. Now you can see just how beautiful it is when someone's broken."

Sam thought he felt a tongue brush at the top of his ear, but it was too brief to be sure.

* * *

The police found Eve quickly. She was mangled, dumped in a river that washed away all trace evidence. Lucifer had pride in his voice as he read about it in the morning paper to Sam.

To commemorate what Lucifer called a victory, Sam got a bed to sleep on. It was Spartan in appearance, metal frame bolted down much like Sam's chair. It had come at a price, however. One Sam found himself almost disappointingly willing to pay and satisfy Lucifer's voyeuristic need.

Sam jerked himself off under the scrutinizing eye of the other man, feeling relief flood his senses when he found his release. Lucifer crooned in his ear, guiding him to the bed and strapped his hands to the sides. He pressed a kiss into Sam's hair, whispering how he was so good, so perfect.

Sam fell asleep quickly, finding himself in new clothes when he awoke.

* * *

Sam gained more liberties after that, so long as he did what Lucifer asked. Books, if his captor be able to kiss him whenever he wished. He was taken upstairs into the house for allowing Lucifer to suck him off. Sam saw his first sunlight in weeks, took showers in the bathroom.

Sam at first thought he was turning the situation in his favor, using Lucifer. The killer quickly educated him otherwise. Sam was his, not the other way around.

By the third victim since he had arrived, Sam didn't speak to them, didn't tell them they'd be fine. He watched with interest as Lucifer carved them, played with them. After they broke down sobbing, Lucifer turned his attention to Sam.

He kissed his little agent, lust barely controlled and hips grinding downwards into Sam's lap. It was messy, sucking Sam's tongue into his mouth and dragging his nails down his back.

He groaned a bit in frustration, standing and slitting the throat of their guest before making contact with Sam again. Hands and lips touched everywhere they could, Lucifer focusing only long enough to release Sam from his bonds.

The agent tried to move back towards his bed, but Lucifer denied him that. Instead, he took Sam upstairs and shoved him onto his own bed, climbing atop him and attempting to suck a mark into his neck while they tried to undress themselves and each other as quickly as possible.

Sam made a gorgeous sight, spread out on Lucifer's bed with pupils blown wide and his cock arching toward his stomach. Lucifer told him so much. They didn't use a condom, and preparation was the bare minimum. Sam adjusted with heavy breathing while Lucifer groaned, burying his head into Sam's shoulder.

Sam writhed, urging the killer balls-deep inside him to move, to fuck him. Lucifer chuckled, pulling out and slamming back in. Sam moaned, the sound of it pure sin.

* * *

Sam looked surprised at the blade offered handle-first to him, but took it nonetheless. Lucifer's hand was over his, guiding each shallow cut made on the shifting canvas of human skin before him.

"Nice and easy," he instructed. "But you want to keep your hands steady. The rougher the cut, the easier it is to let them bleed out."

Each lesson brought a new note of pride to Lucifer's eyes. Sam reveled in being the one to put it there.

* * *

It was four months Sam had been there. He had free reign of the house, because Lucifer knew he would never leave.

This was home.

Sam hadn't slept in the basement in weeks, spending each and every night in Lucifer's bed.

One day, they were both still in bed though the grandfather clock in the hallway claimed it to be noon. The doorbell rang.

Lucifer didn't seem surprised, only asking Sam to handcuff himself to the bed frame. It was difficult, but Sam managed to get both wrists in the ornate iron bars and restrain himself while Lucifer got dressed from clothes scattered about the floor.

His devil kissed him, promising passion and love. The doorbell rang again. "Forgive me, my love." He whispered, punching Sam hard enough in the nose to make it bleed, then fixed a shirt over his mouth and tie it behind his head in a makeshift gag.

The doorbell didn't ring a third time, instead there was a commotion of noise that was familiar to Sam from his training. Doors being kicked open, windows shattering, and then the SWAT team clearing each room.

Sam looked at his lover sadly, wishing he could say something.

The door was thrown in, no less than five gun toting officers bursting into the room.

"Freeze!"

Lucifer lifted his hands in surrender, turning around slowly.

* * *

The CO took Sam's gun from him, clearing everything before he could visit the inmate.

It had taken three years to get here, after his psych eval and months of therapy before he could return to work. They put him on low-risk cases, handling him with kid gloves after what he had been through.

All the while, he got letters. They were in the box under his bed, sorted by date and almost worn through from the frequency of which he read them. Each word was memorized.

He was searched once again, the prison taking absolutely no risks with a maximum security inmate.

Sam was in the room first. The chairs and table were metal, the walls and floor cement. It brought back memories of that room where he had tortured and killed, all under the influence of a depraved serial killer.

The guards escorted the prisoner in, holding his arms and legs while they sat him down.

He smiled at the COs as they left, turning his attention to the agent before him.

"Sam." Nick Milton said, his name recently held to the same level of infamy as that of Dahmer, Gacy, and Bundy.

"Nick." Sam greeted, expression tight.

The killer shook his head, tutting. "Say my name, Sam. You know you want to."

"Lucifer." Sam whispered.

"There you go."

"I came to ask you some questions." Sam announced, trying to revert to the formality of his 'agent voice'.

"Is this business or personal?" Lucifer asked, leaning back in his chair and placing his cuffed hands behind his head. When Sam only glared at him, he smiled. "Personal."

"Why did you do it?"

Lucifer shrugged. "You'll have to ask my lawyer. We're still trying for the insanity plea."

"You know what I mean. I saw your confession. Why did you say what you did?"

"What, that I drugged and raped you? Because I did. How else would I get a straight-laced and entirely innocent young man into my bed and convince him that he loved me?"

Sam leaned forward, eyes flicking to the cameras in every corner of the room. "Because we both know that's not true."

Lucifer sighed, as though exasperated with this line of questioning. "As long as they" he pointed to a camera. "Believe it, I'm in here and you're a free man. I'm already serving five consecutive life sentences. What's a few more years?"

**Author's Note:**

> Love it? Hate it? Found some inaccuracy I'm unaware of? Let me know in the comments.


End file.
